


i cannot find the words to keep you

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, accidental courtship au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: See, Witchers were supposed to ignore emotions, and most of them did. But some of them, once the world had gotten to be too much and they had lived for too long, defected from that idea. They settled down wherever they could, and started their own customs for courtship.or, the one where geralt thinks jaskier is proposing
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 103
Kudos: 1751





	i cannot find the words to keep you

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to dallie for giving me the idea for this au. hope u it lives up to ur ideas.
> 
> also, please forgive my very wishy-washyness with canon ive read a book and a half and seen the show and thats it

When Geralt became a Witcher, he never expected anyone to love him. He knew it was beyond the scope of human capacity to love a monster who hunted monsters. A part of him wished for it anyways, until that day in the market when all of Blaviken turned on him. They didn’t want to know the story, they just cared what they saw - Geralt, butchering innocents in the streets of Blaviken. 

The nickname stuck like a persistent cold. Everywhere Geralt went he was spat at, hated, known only as the Butcher of Blaviken, a Witcher for hire, but not one that could hang around for a pint of ale after the job was done. He ended up in Posada with the hope that maybe the people here were far enough removed from the rest of the continent that no one knew his name. Maybe he could finally,  _ finally _ get a room at the inn and a bath. 

His hopes were dashed when a blue-eyed bard named Jaskier made his way to where Geralt was sitting in a corner and started a conversation. The bard was more persistent than Geralt’s unfortunate nickname. 

After the scuffle with the elves and the sylvan, Jaskier became Geralt’s never fading shadow.

Sometimes people commented on it, how Jaskier looked like a lost puppy, but Geralt knew better. Jaskier was with him for what Geralt could give him - stories, protection, adventure, and Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if the bard dropped him as soon as Jaskier got what he wanted. 

He followed Geralt on adventure after adventure, wrote song after song, poem after poem. Every night they were in a town was another night that Jaskier could line his coin purse with gold. Another night to prove himself irreplaceable, another night to repair Geralt’s damaged reputation, Jaskier had said. Geralt had given a soft hum in return. 

But even with a newly expanded repertoire and an ever growing list of other adventures ready to made into ballads, Jaskier stayed. 

So many times now the bard had been injured, nearly killed because of his proximity to the Witcher. Anytime Geralt tried to bring up anything about the danger, Jaskier would bear his teeth in a grin and proudly exclaim that Geralt was going to have to try much harder than that to get rid of him. In the next breath, Jaskier told him that he was much more likely to get killed travelling alone than with Geralt. 

Geralt must have made a noise that Jaskier took to be disbelief, and so Jaskier had launched into an explanation. He started by pulling the dagger out of his boot and showing it to Geralt. There were dark spots on the blade where blood had been allowed to dry for too long before being wiped off. The sight made a bad taste settle in Geralt’s mouth, though he couldn’t say why. 

But it proved Jaskier’s point. Life as a travelling bard, especially one without a troupe of some sort  _ was _ dangerous. “With you, I can relax,” Jaskier had told Geralt as he carefully slipped the knife back into the sheath hidden in his boot. “With you, I don’t have to be afraid that every shadow lurking in the woods is a bandit waiting to rob me.” 

When Geralt had asked why, Jaskier had given him a soft smile. “I trust you, Geralt.” 

Geralt’s already slow heart skipped a beat. Trust was a strange concept to a Witcher. Generally, they could trust the other Witchers from their school, but trusting anyone outside of that was asking for a knife in the back. It was hard to trust anyone when half the world was just waiting for an excuse to turn on him. 

Something in their relationship shifted after that. Geralt wasn’t sure if the cause was him or the bard, but something changed in the way he viewed Jaskier after that night. He discussed it once, with Yennefer, one of the times they had run into each other. 

She had looked at him like she knew something he didn’t. Her lips stretched into a knowing grin. “Geralt, you oblivious man.” Geralt took another sip of his ale, ignoring the obvious insult. “You love him.” Her tone left no room for argument.

Geralt choked on his drink. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. He cursed when he realized she was right. 

Yennefer had patted him on the shoulder before leaving Geralt to his own thoughts. 

Geralt started noticing more after that. First was that the bard was right, he had made himself and his songs invaluable to Geralt. Jaskier had done more to fix Geralt’s poor reputation in four months than Geralt had managed in forty years. Rarely now was his name spoke with venom, rarely was he denied a room at the local inn, rarely was he spat at and chased out of town. It was nice. And yet, Jaskier had asked for almost nothing in return. 

Jaskier hardly ever wanted anything from Geralt. Jaskier helped Geralt wash monsters guts from his hair, helped set up camp. He sang Geralt soft lullabies on nights where the thoughts in the Witchers head got too loud, and, most importantly, he followed the Witcher no matter what, never once stinking of the fear that Geralt was used to from humans. Yet the only thing he ever asked for in return was to be allowed to stay in Geralt’s company and once, for Geralt’s protection at Pavetta’s betrothal feast. 

Geralt liked to grumble, to complain that the bard was annoying and loud and a nuisance, but it was half-hearted. Witchers didn’t feel as much in the way of emotion as humans, but when they did, it was stronger than anything a human could imagine. The emotion had to be, to get past the wall built by the Witcher’s mutations. 

It scared Geralt a little, how quickly he fell for his bard, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

The turning point came when Jaskier saved his life. Most of the time, the situation was reversed. Jaskier would get cornered by a jealous lord or lady, by bandits, even by fans, once. Geralt would always come to his rescue, would put to work his rarely used silver-tongue to get Jaskier free from trouble. 

But then, one day after a particularly nasty encounter with a large group of nekkers, they were ambushed by bandits. Jaskier had made himself useful and distracted two of the bandits, dispatching them as quickly as he could with his dagger and his wits. Geralt took out the rest. Or he thought he did. 

With the scent of blood in the air, it was hard to tell if Jaskier was injured or not, so he turned to the bard. Jaskier had locked eyes with him before they flickered to something just behind Geralt’s shoulder. 

Geralt heard the creak of a bowstring being pulled. He saw Jaskier raise his arm up, dagger in between his fingers. “Duck!” Jaskier had yelled, launching his dagger forward with surprising force as Geralt dropped himself to the forest floor. It lodged in the bandit’s head with a sickening thunk.

Geralt stood up slowly, eyeing the carnage around them. His eyes flicked back to Jaskier, who was turning a deeper shade of green as the adrenaline wore off. “What the fuck, Jaskier.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Told you I knew how to use that dagger,” he said. Jaskier gave Geralt a wobbly grin before turning around and vomiting in the underbrush. Even after all this time, Jaskier still wasn’t quite comfortable with the gore that came with being a travel companion to a Witcher. 

Howling in the distance told Geralt they had attracted the attention of something he really didn’t want to deal with. 

He mounted Roach in one smooth movement, and pulled Jaskier up after him. They were gone before the howling got any closer. 

Understandably, Jaskier was a little upset about the loss of his dagger. “It kept me safe for so long, Geralt!” He had complained that night, once they were safe in their room in the inn. Geralt had grunted in acknowledgement, already well on his way to sleep. Jaskier huffed. “Guess I’ll have to save up to buy a new one…”

Geralt purchased a new dagger for his bard the next week, once they reached a more populous city. It was a beauty of a weapon, smaller and lighter than Jaskier’s last one. The blade narrowed into a needle sharp point, but the real beauty rested in the hilt. The grip was wrapped in soft leather, a deep brown that made the sapphire set into the cross-guard shine. On the pommel, there was a coin engraved with an image of a wolf. Jaskier was sure it had cost a fortune. He took it without complaint, eyes wide. 

“Geralt, I…” Truth be told, Jaskier had planned on buying the cheapest dagger he could find the next time they made it to a blacksmith. There were risks with buying a cheap weapon, but it was still better than no weapon the next time Jaskier found himself on his own. Jaskier tucked the blade carefully into the new sheath, before tucking that into his boot. “Thank you.” 

Geralt tried his hardest not to think about what he had just done. See, Witchers were supposed to ignore emotions, and most of them did. But some of them, once the world had gotten to be too much and they had lived for too long, defected from that idea. They settled down wherever they could, and started their own customs for courtship. Geralt had found a book on them once, settled in the far reaches of the library in the Temple of Melitele. 

The book had stated that the first step was to give the object of your affections a weapon that suited them, that was a representation of both parties. The sapphire was for Jaskier, for the corn-flower blue of his eyes, and the wolf… If the other person accepted and kept the weapon, that was considered a yes. Yes to being with him, yes to trying out a romantic relationship. 

Logically, there was no way for Jaskier to know this. Not unless the bard had spent an extensive amount of time in the back reaches of every major library on the continent, but Geralt couldn’t help but wonder about it. 

Especially when everytime Geralt would look at the bard too closely, Jaskier would flush and avoid eye contact, strumming away at his lute to keep his hands busy. Especially when Geralt could feel Jaskier’s eyes on his back when the poet thought Geralt was asleep. Especially with the warm saccharine scent of love following Jaskier’s every movement. Especially when Jaskier never asked for anything in return for saving Geralt’s life. 

Geralt wasn’t used to people doing nice things  _ just because _ . Anybody who ever did something nice for Geralt wanted something in return - help killing a monster, a good lay, protection. It didn’t matter what it was, there was  _ always _ something. But then there was Jaskier, who seemingly helped the Witcher just because he could. Because he  _ felt like it _ . 

A marriage proposal for a Witcher wasn’t about a ring, wasn’t about physical goods. More often than not, Witchers lived nomadically, traveling around the world to find work. Monsters were dangerous, and material goods could be lost, destroyed, stolen. No, more often than not a marriage proposal for a Witcher was about actions.

And it seemed to Geralt that Jaskier was  _ proposing to him _ . Geralt knew his bard loved him, and he loved his bard, and he figured that was all he really needed to know. So Geralt planned to respond in kind. To accept the proposal, much like with the dagger, Geralt would have to give Jaskier something that marked the bard as  _ his _ .

In the end, Geralt settled on a medallion for his response. It looked a lot like Geralt’s current medallion, but the wolf on this one was made of a silvery-white metal and the eye of the wolf shone with a yellow gemstone. The medallion hummed softly with the protective magic infused into it.

Geralt waited until they were settled into a room at the inn after a week of traveling to present it to Jaskier. “Jaskier,” he called, waiting for the bard to look up from his notebook of lyrics before he continued. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Jaskier’s eyes glittered in the candle light. He closed his book and made his way across the room to sit on the bed, facing Geralt. “Is it another dagger?” 

A small smile tugged its way across Geralt’s face, and Jaskier was speechless.

Geralt reached out and grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands, pulling it towards him gently. “It’s my way of saying yes.” He pressed the medallion into the bard’s hand and leaned back, ready for Jaskier’s reaction. 

Of all the things he had prepared for, Geralt was not prepared for the confusion that flashed across Jaskier’s eyes, that tugged the corners of his mouth down.

“It’s really beautiful, Geralt, but,” Jaskier licked his lips, one thumb rubbing mindlessly over the wolf on the medallion. “It’s your way of saying yes to...what, exactly?” 

Geralt’s thoughts ground to a halt. Jaskier really hadn’t known anything at all about Witcher customs. Which means...Jaskier really was just being nice. Geralt’s eyes flicked to the side, just over Jaskier’s shoulder so he didn’t have to make eye contact. “I thought...you were asking me something important, but I can see now you weren’t.” Geralt held his hand out. “Nevermind about the medallion then, you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it.” 

It hurt him to say it, but it was the truth. Jaskier had no reason, no duty, to keep the medallion. 

“No, it’s mine now, back off.” Jaskier clutched the medallion tighter, pulling it out of reach of Geralt so he could clasp it around his neck. “Geralt,” he said, once the medallion was safely resting just below his collarbones. “What did you think I was asking you?”

Geralt groaned. This really wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having. “Do you...know anything about Witcher customs?”

“I wasn’t aware Witchers had any.”

Well, that answered that then. Geralt takes a deep breath, and plunges on. He’s faced monsters worse than this. “In Witcher courting customs, courtship begins with a weapon that represents the couple.”

Jaskier’s hand drifted unconsciously towards the boot where he kept the dagger stored, but otherwise did not interrupt. 

“And then you just…kept sticking around. You’ve never been afraid of me, you’re always doing things for me with no expectation of something in return. You saved my life and didn’t want anything.” Jaskier’s mouth opened like he was going to protest, but Geralt cut him off. “Did you know, strong emotions have a smell? Anger, hate, fear...love, all of them. You always smelled like love, so I thought...”

“I was proposing?”

Geralt sighed. “I’m not used to people doing nice things to me just  _ because _ . They always want something from me. When you didn’t ever ask for anything, and with the way the smell of love clung to you every time I was near I thought maybe…” Geralt trailed off, hands clenched uncomfortably in his lap.

“And the medallion?”

“To accept a proposal, a gift is given to the partner. This gift should represent the person they’re marrying. A symbol that they belong together. Something to mark ownership.”

Jaskier’s eyes softened and he scooted closer to Geralt. Their knees brushed, as Jaskier leaned in to cup Geralt’s face. “You stupid oaf.” The insult was spoken kindly, softly, harsh words padded with emotion. “Of course I love you. And I guess...even if it wasn’t intentional, I will be glad to be with you for as long as I can be.” Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips. “Am I supposed to get you something in return?”

Geralt shook his head as best he could with Jaskier’s hands still bracketing it. “You’ve already given me more than enough.”

Jaskier looked like he was going to argue, so Geralt leaned in and pressed another kiss to the bard’s soft mouth. And then another, and another, until they both had to stop for breath. Jaskier didn’t argue as he fell asleep on his Witcher’s chest, the slow beat of Geralt’s heart more soothing than any lullaby. 

The bard didn’t argue, but the next month they were in town, Jaskier presented Geralt with a small charm to go on the chain with Geralt’s guild medallion. It was a dandelion, Jaskier’s namesake. It hung just behind Geralt’s medallion, small enough to remain out of the way, but big enough to be noticed. 

It was something that represented Jaskier, something that showed just who had stolen Geralt’s heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from [new york torch song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWVN_2chDAE) by joey's band, the amazing devil!


End file.
